Ride the Wreck (Stonewall Investigations Blue Creek 2)

I breathed him in, feeling his body flush against mine. My senses kicked into overdrive, wanting to absorb every single aspect of him, memorize every little piece of him. My blood started to warm; my pulse pounded. I wondered if he could feel what he was doing to me, like how I felt him, felt his need and his want and his yearning.

A breathless “Bedroom” escaped from my lips as we broke for breath. Elijah looked at me with doe-like eyes and nodded, equally breathless. He grabbed my hand, some of the blue lipstick having jumped ship and found a new home on his upper lip. I rubbed it off with a thumb, smiling. “Guess it’s not that good at staying on.”

“Nope,” Elijah said. “Now let’s test the dress.”

I laughed, already wanting to rip it off so I could get as close to—

Ring, ding. The doorbell chime made us freeze. Elijah looked at the clock on the wall. “Weird. No one ever comes over at this time.”

I looked to the door, my hackles rising. Something felt off about this. Elijah went to go open it, but I grabbed his elbow, pulling him back, raising a finger to my lips. He got the message and stepped back, fear coming over his features, blanching the rosy blush that had colored his cheeks and neck only moments before.

Ring, ding.

Ring, ding.

Ring, ding.

The ringing turned frantic now, the chimes bouncing off the walls in a nonstop chorus. Elijah looked wide-eyed at me, stumbling backward, away from the door. I put myself between him and whoever the fuck was messing with us. It didn’t even occur to me that I was still in full drag. I grabbed a heavy vase off a table and walked toward the door, bracing myself for whoever waited for me on the other side.

14

Elijah King

My heart was doing splits in my throat. Full death drops and twirls and summersaults. This was it. The moment the stalker finally gave in to their most primal and fucked-up urges. I wanted to tell Ryan to freeze, to call the police and go hide in a closet with me, but my voice wouldn’t work. No sound came out past the desert landscape that had taken residence inside my mouth. I could barely swallow as I watched Ryan pick up the vase and walk toward the door, bell still ringing as if it were cosplaying a fire alarm.

“Who’s there?” Ryan called, putting an eye to the peephole. No one answered him except for the doorbell.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

From making out with one of the hottest guys (and drag queens) I’d ever seen to shitting my pants in total fear, what a fucking night. Half-naked Golden Girls and ice cream would have been so much easier to handle than this wild-ass roller-coaster ride.

Ryan motioned for me to move back, a hand on the doorknob and the other holding the vase. I couldn’t move, though. My knees must have been filled with quick-dry cement. I was able to shake my head, which I did.

The doorbell stopped ringing, replaced by the insistent pounding of my own heart against my rib cage. Ryan turned the handle and threw the door open, vase lifted, chest puffed, wig laid. If this were any less terrifying, I might have just laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

No one was there. Ryan peeked his head out before fully stepping outside, doing a full scan of my front yard before bringing the vase down to his side. I let out a breath that had been burning like coal inside my lungs. Ryan put a hand out to stop me from moving as he went farther out into the front yard.

I couldn’t stay back. I was never one to listen to directions, especially not when my brain was hay wiring with an adrenaline rush. I popped my head out the side of the door like a cartoon character.

It was a dark night, a river of clouds concealing any stars that might have been able to provide some more light. I looked to Ms. Nora’s house and saw that none of her lights were on, which wasn’t a surprise as she usually went to bed at around seven. My other neighbors weren’t home, judging by the lack of cars in the driveway, meaning no one would have been able to see what triggered my doorbell.

Speaking of… “Ryan, check this out.” Something by my feet caught my eye. It looked like a—

“It’s a CD case,” Ryan said, crouching down to examine it. A few thick strips of duct tape covered the front of it. Ryan stood back up and looked closer at the doorbell. “Tape residue.”

Before Ryan could tell me otherwise, I bent down and picked up the case. It was a blank CD without any cover art on the front. I flipped it over and read a list of six songs, noticing that certain letters were circled within every track.